This child wouldn't have the pressure of family obligation. It would be free to live his or her life in any way desired. He withdrew his hand, a sudden heavy weight bearing down on him. Blake could deny his family heritage all he wanted, but the truth of the matter was it would always run through his veins, and now that of his son or daughter's. And for the first time in his life, he understood what his mother had meant. What his grandmother had tried for years to pound into his head. History had immortalized his family. And he came from a long line of fighters.
“She wanted you to have it,” Maggie said.
Blake swiped a palm across his wet cheek, not caring who saw him weeping. This was his kidâhis. And whether Rhonda knew it or not, she'd just sent him a message. She hadn't lied. She wasn't going to keep him away from his child. But if she thought for one bloody minute that she wasn't part of the package, she better roll the dice and think again. They were going to be a family.
“Has she thrown me a bone? Or does she plan this to be the first step?”
Rhonda's past molded her. She may think nothing good came of it, but it made her a survivor. She tried to ignore her compassion, the ability to see past her own needs, and couldn't. She'd bled for her father and if she had to do it all over again, he believed she would. So how was it that a story in the tabloids sent her into hiding? She was stronger than that.
Maggie's silence took Blake's gaze off the precious image. She wanted to tell him something. Her internal debate was written on her face. He had to tip the scales in his favor to get her to open up. Because really, what was she protecting Rhonda from? Him? That was stupid. Or did Rhonda not trust herself around him? Shit. She wasn't mad. She was afraid.
“I love her, Maggie. If she doesn't want to go back to Scotland, we won't. We'll live here,
if
that's what she truly wants.” But he didn't believe she did.
Maggie chewed on her bottom lip. She wanted to say something, but her loyalty to Rhonda came first. Blake looked at Christian, silently imploring his help. This jackass of a friend rolled his eyes, but thankfully opened his big mouth.
“Maggie, you know he wouldn't hurt her, and he is the baby's father. There has to be something we can do that will get her to see him.”
“She's scared,” she finally said. “She can't be with you and be portrayed in the British tabloids as a gold-digging stripper. You do get that, don't you?”
“Of course I get it.” No woman wanted that. “But they'd get over it. It's not like I'm next in line for the throne. A few good deeds, one or two charitable events, and they'd overlook it. But I meant what I said. We don't have to return to Scotland.”
“Then there's your family. The press may forget, or overlook, her background. They however . . .”
“I don't care what they think. She should know that. If my parents are civil, which I'm sure they will be, I'll take the baby to Scotland for a visit. Rhonda doesn't have to be there.”
“My understanding is your grandmother will be the biggest problem. Her opinion of Rhonda will go beyond the stripper who bamboozled her grandson. Money aside, they're looking at you to save the title. If you're with Rhonda and she gives birth to a son, you won't have a legitimate heir.”
“Is that it? She wants to get married?”
“A piece of paper doesn't make a family,” Maggie said adamantly. “But she doesn't want to get in the way of you making one for yourself. So you can give your family what they need.”
“I don't care about any of that. Why do I feel like a dog chasing my tail? I've already said we don't have to return to Scotland. What exactly is the problem?”
Maggie gave a heavy sigh. “I can't tell you where she is, Blake. Sorry. She made me promise not to tell
you
.” And with that, she left. She grabbed her purse off the bar, opened the front door, and walked out.
Blake scratched his head. “What the hell just happened? Why wasn't she listening to me?”
Christian shook his head. “Man, for a smart guy . . . What kind of private eye are you?”
“What? No offense, but your wife wasn't listening. None of that other stuff is important. Rhonda and I can build a life here.”
“You know,” Christian said, propping his booted feet back on the mosaic coffee table. “And don't tell my wife. She'll kill me.” He indicated his feet. “Rhonda grew up with nothing. And what little she had, she earned. I mean, she was practically the sole provider of that family. She most certainly was the parent.”
“What's your point?”
“Just that it would be nice for someone to think of her, don't you think?”
“Obviously,” Blake said, losing patience with his friend. “And I plan to do that.”
“You told me earlier, Rhonda loved the house you bought. The one you're restoring.”
Blake smiled, remembering Rhonda's reaction to the house, before Harris came along and ruined everything. “I was sure she was going to offer to help restore it.”
“She'd have to live in Scotland to do that.”
“Yeah,” he said wistfully, “I think she'd have taken me up on the offer to stay. Before Harris fucked everything up.”
“Right,” Christian pointed out. “Then her secret came out. And now she's too embarrassed to face your family.”
“Again, point?”
Christian shot a pillow at Blake's head. Blake caught it and threw it back.
“Point is, dumbass, Rhonda liked Scotland. It's your family and the media stopping you. That and the ridiculous title you
never
told your best friend about.”
“Like I'd give you more ammunition to rib me?”
“I wouldn't do that,” Christian argued.
“Oh yes, you would.”
“Okay, I would. Hell, I'm going to, but if you want to fix this with Rhonda, get your family on board.”
“But I don't care if they're not on board.”
“She
does
. Holy shit, you're stupid. That's what Maggie was trying to tell you.”
“She was?” He thought back, considered the words she used and how she ignored everything he'd argued.
She can't be with you and be portrayed as a gold-digging stripper. Then there's your family. You're right, the press will forget, or forgive . . .
“You think if my family accepts Rhonda, then she'd be inclined to stay with me? You think it's that important to her?”
“You don't? You honestly think she wants to be thought of as the woman who destroyed the Jameson-Cameron clan because she stopped you from producing another heir? You believe she wants to be remembered that way? What Maggie was trying to say without betraying Rhonda, is
that's
what's really bugging Rhonda. So if you want the girl, fix that.”
“How? She's right. My grandmother will never accept her.”
“What about your mother? Your father?”
“My father has always told me to follow my own path. My mother liked Rhonda. I hope that hasn't changed. She doesn't think like my grandmother.”
“Then I suggest you try there first.”
Chapter Twenty-five
R
honda couldn't imagine a more serene location than a cabin on Lake Tahoe, if you could call the house she was staying in a cabin. Cabin brought to mind one bedroom, cozy fireplace, a barely there kitchen and, if you were lucky, indoor plumbing. Not six bedrooms, seven bathrooms, two living areas, and a kitchen/dining area big enough for twelve people and the best view money could buy. Not to mention a hot tub the size of a small country. When Shannon decided they should purchase a vacation home, Maggie had said she made them go all out. No kidding.
Morning decaf in hand, Rhonda stood on the cedar deck and enjoyed the crisp air and to-die-for view of the lake and mountains. She rubbed her growing belly. How much longer could she, they, stay here? She was a coward and didn't care. Facing Blake would kill her. She missed him terribly. The papers had done their thing to herâagain, but it was more than that. She never had much in her life. Everything had been stripped from her. But she'd be damned if she'd allow Blake's family to paint her as the woman responsible for destroying their heritage. She had some pride left, and what little she managed to save over the years, they weren't going to take. She loved him. She did, and it made sense that with her shitty luck, love wasn't enough.
How they'd laugh if they ever learned she'd seen herself restoring Blake's house with him. It was a shame. It would have been fun renovating that place, maybe one day living in it. At first, she thought it served her right for thinking she was good enough to live in a house with all that history, when hers was less than anything to brag about. Then the baby moved, the life growing inside her, and she realized it didn't matter where she came from. Having lots of money didn't make you a better person. Look at Sarah. All the money in the world wouldn't make her less of a bitch.
She hugged her belly. She was this baby's mamma. And nothing and no one could take that from her. And at least here, in the States, she could find some anonymity. Her child need never be ridiculed for what Rhonda had done in the past. Her child would have the normal life she never had. She'd even refused to open the results of her ultrasound, too afraid that if it were a boy, she'd feel even worse about keeping Blake away until after the birth.
She wrapped the woolen throw from the couch tighter around herself. Would it snow before Christmas? She went to take another sip of her coffee and realized it was cold. She'd just stepped through the patio doors when the doorbell rang. Assuming Alice or Wendy had forgotten something, she kicked off her shoes and padded barefoot across the pine floors to answer the door.
They'd been taking turns checking up on her, and last night the two had arrived with dinner, wine for them, and sparkling apple juice for her. She'd shooed them away early this morning, offering to clean up the mess from the night before. She stopped to toss her makeshift shawl on one of the black leather couches. The great room might have a twenty-foot ceiling but the ginormous stone fireplace did a bang up job of heating the space.
The doorbell rang again. Why did they insist on ringing the bell? This was their place. They had no qualms about pushing her around for Maggie's wedding. Maybe being pregnant gave her an advantage? If that were the case, she'd milk it for all it was worth. Those two women were scarier than Rhonda's old act, which they'd practiced last night, bullwhip and all. Even after drinking two bottles of wine, or because of it, they weren't half bad. Rhonda caught their attempt on her phone and sent it to Maggie. Who promptly told her two buddies to keep their day jobs.
“So, which wicked stepsister this way comes?” she asked, opening the door.
Rhonda clutched the doorknob as a wave of nausea and dizziness threatened to knock her on her ass.
“Oh dear.” Lady Helen rushed to wrap an arm around Rhonda's expanded waist. “You look like you're about to faint. Are you ill? Shall I have the taxi take you to hospital?”
Rhonda glanced at the cab in the driveway. “No, no I'm fine. Justâsurprised.”
“Oh, good,” Lady Helen said, sounding relieved. “May I come in?”
“Umm, of course.” Rhonda wasn't keen to be bawled out by Blake's mother, but she sure as hell didn't want her doing it in front of a stranger.
Lady Helen waved the cab away, shutting the door and helping her to one of the couches. “Can I get you something? A glass of water, perhaps?”
Just how long was this lecture going to be? “No, thank you. You caught me off guard, that's all. What are you doing here? And how did you find me?”
“I came to see you, of course.”
“From Scotland?” Was she that angry?
“Well, yes dear.” The corners of her mouth curled in a smile that reminded Rhonda of Blake. “Where else would I come from? Are you certain you're all right?” she asked, setting her purse on the rustic iron coffee table.
Rhonda draped her arms protectively across her belly. “You didn't have business in the States?”
“No, but I might stop in New York on the way home. I've always wanted to see the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center.”
The woman had flown all the way from Scotland just to see her? Not trusting her legs to stand, Rhonda scooted several inches away pretending to turn sideways to see Lady Helen better. She didn't want to be close to someone who was about to rake her over the coals. The newspapers must have caused a mega-scandal for her to come all this way to give Rhonda a piece of her mind. Part of Rhonda was mad. She'd done nothing wrong, and part of her, the part that liked Lady Helen, was deeply sorry for the embarrassment her relationship with Blake had caused his family.
“I'm sorry about what happened.” Rhonda never meant for Blake's family to be dragged through the mud because of the choices she had made. “But it wasn't supposed to come out. I didn't mean . . .” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “This baby wasn't planned. I wasn't trying to trap Blake. Your tabloids know shit.” Rhonda slapped a hand over her mouth. She'd done it again. This was Lady Helen, not Wendy or Alice.
Lady Helen tugged at Rhonda's hand. “I'm not a prude. I've been known to curse a time or two . . . or three.” She smiled, making her feel slightly more at ease.
“Why are you here? I've disgraced your family. I should be the last person you want to see.” She bit the inside of her mouth hoping to keep the tears at bay. She did a lot of that lately. Stupid hormones.
“You're carrying my grandchild and you saved my son's life. Why wouldn't I want to see you?”
At least she believed it was her grandchild. Rhonda doubted the Dowager Duchess felt the same. “How did you know where to find me?” Who had ratted her out?
“That's not important.”
It was if Blake also knew. “Not to be rude, Lady Helenâ”
“Nell,” she corrected. “Call me Nell.”
The woman was ten million steps ahead of her on the social ladder and Rhonda had found it kind of cool to be able to address someone by a formal title. But things were different now. As much as she liked Blake's mother, Rhonda was going to be a mom herself. And for the sake of her baby, she wasn't going to allow herself to feel inferior to anyone.
“Nellâwhat is it you want?”
She had no intention of ever stepping foot in Scotland again. The gossip rags should've forgotten her and her
illegitimate
child by now. They had no proof Blake was the father, so no real cause to continue publicly lambasting her. As she and Blake were no longer together, any harm she'd inadvertently done to his family could easily be brushed under the rug. So why the visit?
“It's simple, really. I wanted to see for myself that the mother of my grandchild was well.”
“You believe this baby is Blake's?”
“If my son believes it, why wouldn't I?”
Okay, fair enough. She trusted her son. “You could have asked Blake how I was.”
“I did. But all he could tell me was what your friend Maggie told him. That wasn't good enough. She's a lovely girl by the way, your friend Maggie.”
So Maggie was the snitch. “Yes, but right now she's in the doghouse.”
“Don't be too hard on her. I can be very persuasive when I want to. And technically you didn't tell her not to tell
me
where you were.”
“I didn't think I had to. You are the last person . . . second-to-last person I expected to want to see me.”
She smiled. “My mother being the last?”
Rhonda shrugged. It was one person she was grateful she'd never have to see again.
Lady Helen sighed. “Yes, she is a fuddy-duddy.”
Rhonda's eyebrow shot up. Her grandson had knocked up a stripper. On this one point the dowager was right. “She's very proud of her family name, and I tainted it. But you can tell her I won't be returning to Scotland, and Blake and I are no longer . . . Honestly, Blake and I were never a couple. I don't know what he told you, but circumstances beyond our control forced us together. And if I wasn't pregnant, I'm certain Blake would've already forgotten about me.” And didn't that hurt. “He is, however, the father of this child and wants to be part of his or her life. So if you've come for some kind of assurance that I'll stay away from Blake, I can't give it to you.
“I can promise you that I won't get in the way of your son giving you an heir. He's free to marry and have as many children as he wants.” It killed her to think of him doing just that, but sooner or later he'd find someone else. Someone more suitable to his family. He could protest all he liked, say he didn't want what his family represented. He'd be lying. The house, the estate he'd bought in Scotland was proof of that. That, and he had asked her to live in Scotland with him, before she found out the press had her number.
Lady Helen nodded thoughtfully. “I can understand why you would jump to the wrong conclusion for my visit. But I am
not
my mother. And as I said before, you are going to be the mother of my grandchild . . . and the woman my son loves. So what I don't understand is why the two of you are not together.”
Rhonda blinked. “You want us together?”
“You're going to have his child. Call me old-fashioned, but you should be together.”
How could she not understand what that would mean? “If he's with me, he can't fulfill the conditions of the will, or give you an heir.”
“He can if he marries you and it's a boy. Could you kindly explain why he's not? He loves you. He told me you admitted to loving him. Do you not want to marry my son?” she asked, oddly defensive.
She didn't see the point in lying. Lady Helen was shrewd enough to see right through her lies. “I love him. I love everything about him, even when he's telling me what to do. But you're an aristocratic family. I won't be the source of ridicule for Blake or my baby.”
When she looked baffled, Rhonda explained. “I spent most of my life taking care of my father. I never got to do what other kids did because I needed to be home. I had to make dinner, clean, and balance what money we had. I dropped out of school, gave up the career I'd planned for myself, to earn the money needed for hospital bills and around-the-clock care, when he could no longer remember his name . . . or mine. I sold my dignity to ensure he was taken care of.”
“I see, life wasn't very kind or fair to you.”
“No. So maybe you understand why I can't allow Blake to sacrifice his dignity, his pride, his heritage, to be with me. Then there's our child. If Blake and I aren't together, if this baby can't be the next heir, then the press and your mother can't take issue with who I am.” Rhonda got to her feet, grateful her legs could support her, because she needed to move.
She began to pace. “I don't know how well I'm explaining myself. But I'm doing this for both of them.”
“That's very noble of you dear. But is this because you were an exotic dancer?”
Rhonda smiled, appreciating Lady Helen's spin on it, but it changed nothing. “I was a stripper. I took off my clothes. Do you think the tabloids would forget that? Or that your mother would ignore it?” The baby kicked and Rhonda rubbed the spot on her stomach. The baby moved the most when Rhonda was upset.
“Is that it then? The reason you're cutting Blake out of your life?”
“I'm not cutting him out completely. We'll see each other once the baby is born. Just not as lovers.”
“Rhonda, let me tell you a story.”
Rhonda stopped her pacing, curious as to what Lady Helen could say that would make her change her mind or, more importantly, why she'd want to.
“A long time ago, a very noble lord found himself duty-bound. His parents had arranged a very powerful match. She was an Italian countess with a very large fortune, one needed if they were to keep their land and home. You see, they, like many an aristocratic family, had fallen on hard times. The funds needed to maintain a large estate can be astronomical. The trouble was, the young lord had fallen for one of the gypsy girls in the local village. The girl's father was a notorious drunkard, and had been in and out of jail so many times that his wife had abandoned them. On one hand, if he did what was asked of him, he'd lose his lady love. On the other, his family would lose their home and, more importantly, their heritage.”
“What did he do?” Rhonda asked, curious as to where Lady Helen was heading with this.
“He married for love and eventually made a fortune in trade, saving his family from ruin. His mother, however, never accepted his wife. She was not of her class and had very little, if any, training in the social graces.”